Rant #1

Blogger won't let me change the names of the people on my blogroll. Not that it's too important, but it would be nice to remember all the names of people who choose pseudonyms. Plus, it's cool to see who other people are reading.

I feel like a dork. I finally figured out where the stairwells are in the lab building for all my psych experiments, and then I went and forgot one of my appointments today. I thought my second experiment was at 5, instead of 2.

Also, I have no idea when my midterms are. I'm not all too concerned, since virtually all I've learned so far has either been review, simple statistics, or fancy vocabulary for simple processes.

I've discovered something of which I'm quite pleased with myself-- I enjoy scheduling and going on dates! Ahem. Man-dates, that is. I needn't even bother with the pun.

My phone refuses to be smart. At least it's not dumb... but I wish it had a better reminder system. Curses on the fancy Siri! I'm not jealous at all...

Whoa.

Um... ok. So Blogger changed on me. This is... interesting.

Solomon Thorn is a really cool bro. We went to see the movie "Cabin in the Woods" last night, and decided this morning that it was a satire like "The Hunger Games" trilogy, though directed at the horror genre as opposed to general violence, oppression, hunger and gluttony, corruption, and an entertainment-addicted society. After all, as Solomon pointed out, "what's the purpose of the horror genre? It's not at all edifying. I gain nothing from watching them, yet I still endorse them..."

SPOILER ALERT. Aside from the obligatory nude/sex scene and the continuous swearing, the movie was a meta-horror film. The five characters (representing five aspects of Youth, titled whore, athlete, fool, scholar, virgin) shown in the trailers are on a camping trip, right? Normal creepy cabin in the woods deal, right? Wrong. They first pass a creepy gas station that should scream "TURN AROUND. ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE." The manager of said station is rude and uncooperative, even going so far as to call the blonde a whore, which, in retrospect, could have been a hinting of foreshadowing. These five kids set up in their rooms, unaware that they are being monitored by scientists who rig the sacrifice. They start a party in the living room of the cabin, while the scientists do the same in their laboratory, giving the viewer a strong sense of parallelism between scenes. During a risque game of truth-or-dare, the scientists pop open the cellar trapdoor. The kids wander over, and according to horror-film protocol, decide to go downstairs. The cellar is full of relics and things ranging from music boxes to diaries to creepy clown costumes to circular rubik's cubes to necklaces to old film reels to dolls. These, the viewer discovers through the scientists' consequential dialogue, represent how the children unwittingly choose their death. A girl reads the diary of a redneck masochistic family's daughter, who details how each of them were murdered by the father, finishing with a set of phrases in Latin that would resurrect the family as zombies. Despite the protests of her pothead brother (Distress! This film praises marijuana as immunizing from suggestion and granting foresight!), the girl reads the Latin. Zombies arise, death ensues. Whore + Athlete are driven by chemicals and variable temperatures and light settings into a sex scene in the woods. Whore strips her top (naturally), and head scientist says "It's not just for us. We've got an audience to please." Whore dies; Athlete survives. Athlete takes gang into the RV and tries to escape. Tunnel artificially collapses. Athlete dies from hitting a force field wall while trying to make a mountain bike jump across the ravine. Scholar dies from zombie hiding in the RV. Virgin girl and her pothead brother (the "fool") survive and hop in the elevator shaft that doubled as the zombies' "grave." They arrive in a control room and unleash all the countless possible nightmares upon the underground laboratory, resulting in the death of all the scientists and guards. Somehow the brother and sister arrive at the lowest part of the underground lab relatively unharmed, where Sigourney Weaver ("Alien"), who functioned also as director of this film, steps out and explains things. The five youths' annual death represents a sacrifice that appeases and restrains ancient "gods" akin to Greek demi-gods. These monsters must be contained or the rest of the world dies when they are released. Thus, it would seem to the utilitarian, five lives are a cheap price to pay in order to "save" billions. Weaver also states that this sacrificial cult exists multi-nationally, and that this year, all the other nations messed up, so it was up to the U.S. to provide an acceptable sacrifice by... uh... 5 minutes from then. So the sister's left with a hard choice. Kill her brother to save the world? Her brother is a little bit disturbed, but doesn't warn her to turn around when a stray werewolf makes its way down the stairs and mauls her. Brother shoots werewolf, werewolf exits. Redneck Masochistic Zombie Family's Daughter shows up and slashes Sigourney Weaver across the skull with an axe. Weaver + zombie girl tumble over the edge into the magma pool holding the "gods." Brother and sister say the thesis of the movie, which went something along the lines of:  "It might be time for a change in control over the earth, if it takes human sacrifice to keep us going. But I only wish I could see it happen." Demi-god blows up the laboratory as its arm bursts out of the cabin in the woods. Credits roll.

It was a very artsy film, in that it made you really think philosophically about the movie-going experience, and about pornography and horror. I still feel like I'm missing a lot, and I'm secretly glad it wasn't really a horror flick. I've never really seen a horror film before, and I'd be game to try, but Solomon's words are true--if it has no benefit to you, do you do it for pleasure? How can you find pleasure from horror? Is it the suspense? Is it the gore? Is it the safety of knowing you aren't those characters? Or is it in preparation of the famed "zombie apocalypse?"

I need to sleep. 

The catalytic effect of cat litter.

Are we crafted, as human beings, even with "flaws," to fit an exact role at an exact time? God is sovereign; yes, even atheists and demons believe this, and shudder. But is God sovereign over your choice of Coca-Cola over Pepsi? Over whether you obey or disobey (in the moment and in the long-term)? Whether you hear or plug your ears? Whether you live or die (or rather, how long you die on this planet)? Whether the sky brings rain or hail; sand or locusts; sun or shade? Whether the nations war or kiss the Son? Whether you go to point A or point B? Whether you go to UC Irvine or Stanford? (Rhetorical answer: yes.)

All those questions came from a very simple chore of mine: that of cleaning my cat's litter box. It's actually a pretty funny thing, for our cat stays outdoors, and litter boxes are generally used as indoor substitutes for... you know, pooping. Whenever I walk by her box, she runs over to the box, sits in it, and starts to put on her best "don't-you-see-how-degrading-and-sad-my-life-is" cat-smile. I realize that doesn't make a lot of sense, buuuuuuut I figure you know at least ONE cat person, reader, who can empathize and explain this clause.

I really don't mind cleaning my cat's litter box. This is mainly because I simply can't smell very well. I have pretty lame allergies to lots of things, from the spring air to cat dander to pollen to dust. It's fun being me! I'm sure this poor sense of smell will come in handy when I start cooking for myself...

Thus, because I cannot smell well, it is a small sacrifice for me to clean up my cat's feces. If I were a [Gentile] slave back in Jesus's day, I would not have minded performing the lowest of services in washing the feet of guests. But foot-washing will have to wait for another day, if this log would be concise.

[Practical application: A wise friend of mine once said that it is a small sacrifice to sit in the middle of the backseat of a sedan, as no one else enjoys that spot's cramped leg space and tight elbow room. But in my case, such a sacrifice would be an inconvenience and safety hazard to a driver who over-utilizes his rear-view mirror.... cough, Calvin. Cough. Cough.]

[Greeking out! "Allergy" comes from two Greek words-- άλλος + έργον, which are "other" + "work," respectively. So "allergy" means "it works an other way," which is exactly what it means how we use the word in English. If you have an allergic reaction to a bee's venom, your body works/acts/responds in an other way.]

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You will say then unto me, "Why does He yet find fault? For who has resisted His will?" (Romans 9:19)


No-- is the apostle Paul's appropriately stern answer. Who are you, O man, to talk back to God?

"But that's not an answer!" I cry. Yet the answer is obvious: God is sovereign over all things, for He is the I AM before all things.

Yet of course when I veer to the side of Coca-Cola, it is a choice of mine, though my taste buds may have been predeterminately inclined towards bitter over sweet. (This isn't true, except in the instance of Coke > Pepsi. I prefer root beer over both.) Anyways, such arbitrary choices that have (seemingly) no eternal weight are indeed chosen by God. A good Bible teacher of mine at Valley Christian didn't believe that. She held that God governs the decisions that matter (e.g. salvation via faith by grace in the Son), but that it was her choice to prefer Coca-Cola over Pepsi. And yet God will judge His creatures by their choices--whether they a) heeded the general call of nature to believe in the LORD and then beg forgiveness in the blood of His Lamb or b) covered their ears in stubborn refusal to rise from slumber. How can this be? For who CAN resist His will? (Rhetorical answer: No one can, no one has, and no one will.)

[The apostle Paul really likes rhetorical questions. I like that about him.]

This, from my noob's course on philosophy, is called the agent causation approach to free will. That is, free will doesn't exist on the ultimate scale, as something (Christians acknowledge this in the loving God, our heavenly Father, who created all things from the word of His command) ultimately caused everything that now is, and thus is ultimately responsible for everything that now is, both good and evil. However, free will does exist, as creatures make choices all the time and are held accountable for them. If you rob a store, then you serve time in prison. (I don't like prison. Scratch that example.) If you pull a cat's tail, then it will scratch you. If you kill a man, by man will you be killed. If you cheat on a test, you will not learn and probably will get caught, thus earning larger-than-lex-talionis punishments. If you forget to fill the car with gas, it will not run. If you start rumors, you will destroy your relationships. If you want to learn how to skateboard, you will need to be prepared to suffer many falls. If you would like to date/court a girl, you will need to set aside resources to spend quality time together. And so on, and so forth. Attic Greek even provides entire complex and nuanced forms of sentences to illustrate these if/then conditions.

(Modern) Philosophy presents a false dichotomy when it comes to free will. It doesn't take into account the sovereignty of an all powerful, all knowing, all present, and all benevolent God. Philosophers say that either determinism is or isn't compatible with free will. "Determinism" is the secular and atheistic view of sovereignty minus God, a universe spun wildly and mystically out of control, the perfectly yet randomly sculpted steering wheel intact but untouched. "Compatibilist" philosophers would say that determinism is compatible with free will, for freedom and responsibility for one's actions are compatible with a predetermined fate. On the other hand, "Incompatibilist" philosophers would say determinism isn't compatible with free will, for if all things have been determined (e.g. predestination), then one cannot be held truly free and responsible for one's actions.

[Can a murderer use this philosophy before a judge who is an eyewitness to the murder? Could he stand up, vow upon the Bible, and then proclaim the living God to be responsible for the murder and the murderer's bloodstained hands?

No. You won't wash your hands that easily before a merciful God who suffered in the place of a murderer.]

Back to philosophy. The agent causation approach falls under the "compatibilist" arch-category, and basically means this: "not all events are completely determined (predestined from eternity past), but are determined (chosen within our lifetimes) by agents, not events. Agents can be causes. Humans are exceptions to determinism (!). Agents cause their own wants, desires, preferences, and thus the actions that proceed from them."

[I understand, as a Christian, how this is fairly close to Christian theology regarding free will. Christians believe man, being bound by his sinful nature (depravity), is free to act however he pleases according to that depravity, thus producing the most abominable of sins. When a sinner is converted by grace through faith in the redemptive work of Christ's salvation and propitiation of obedience (how's that for a Greek clause!), (s)he is freed from the guilt and power of sin, and thus is free to act according to a new nature, a new man, the image of God being revived by the Holy Spirit. This is not to say Christians don't sin, nor does it assert that sinners cannot do rightly. This doctrine simply states what man is "free" to do. A Christian can foolishly bind himself to sin, as can an unregenerate sinner be constrained to do rightly.]

However, the philosophy regarding agent causation is flawed when it begins to refer to humans as being prime movers, causes within ourselves, and exceptions to determinism (predestination). Rather, we are agents with unwritten history and several moral obligations.

Agent Causation is, I believe, the best sub-category of modern philosophy that explains free will and determinism, for it operates with the dichotomy of
1. If determinism (predestination) is false, then events aren't caused, and chaos reigns. (Obviously chaos doesn't reign, e.g. mathematical laws, gravity, language, logic)
2. If we are not able to control events (predestination), then how can we be free and responsible?

In a sense, even Christians do not have free wills. The will of the Christian ought to be subjected to the will of Christ, that every knee should bow and every tongue profess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father... and in the face of all Caesars and idols who would demand primary loyalty. That the name and knowledge of the LORD would cover the earth as the waters cover the seas. That His people would rejoice in peace and song for His great deliverance. That His kingdom come and His will be done in earth as it is done in heaven.

An example of this non-freedom which will stick with me to my dying day is the example of a man who has a problem with lust. He has wicked desires to rape pretty girls who walk the streets at night in the dangerous side of town. Therefore, in a valiant effort to surrender his FREE WILL to rape or not to rape women, this man educates himself about the horrors and brutality of rape. He studies numbers and statistics of women who walk around afraid of the wicked potential of men to exercise their FREE WILL to take advantage of women. He joins accountability groups. (In my imagination, he finds counseling in a church by a caring pastor, and marries a beautiful Christian girl and lives happily ever after... until he has children and worries himself sick over his daughters.) Thus, he renders any action or choice of his to commit rape unthinkable and abhorrent to his very soul. He cannot choose but to NOT rape. Therefore, the action to NOT rape is an exercise of his  FREE WILL, even if only by the consciously intentional narrowing of options.

You will say then, "Why should we evangelize or pray if God knows all things? Need we inform him of needs or praises or history? Need we evangelize?"

No. You err, foolish self, whenever you think this way. Because you are a tool, an agent, and a means in this world, you will be a light that doesn't hide itself under a bowl of "God-doesn't-need-me" disorder. And as for prayer, why do you question the love and grace of God, to always allow you to come into His throne-room with fear and trembling, as a child of the king who extends His scepter of iron in peace, covered in the blood of the Lamb? Why do you doubt the grace and lovingkindness of a Father who desires to use prayer as a means of grace and a provision for your thirsty soul and for change in this world. Prayers are not like coins in a slot machine, nor are they like last week's newspaper, soggy and forlorn on God's front lawn. Prayers are pleas for pardon, cries for courage, a persistent widow who seeks justice.

Christianity according to the Bible does not allow for fatalism. Even modern philosophy recognizes this about determinism. "Determinism does not automatically carry the implication that human action has no influence on events and therefore that freedom is an illusion." In other terms, the principle "If P, then had Q been the case, P would [still] have been the case" is false! "If determinism is true, your actions are beyond your control" (Van Inwagen, philosopher endorsing the incompatibilist approach to determinism + free will).

Philosophy asks the rhetorical question, "Does foreknowledge imply fatalism? What if you found a book titled Book of Your Life? Would you be controlled (thereby lacking free will) if someone (e.g. God) knew everything about you, past/present/future?"

"No." --The apostle Paul

An update.

Resolved: to not start writing anything new on this blog (besides incredible new installments) until I have finished my incomplete thoughts. 


A brief update:
Calvin's car was totaled in the crash. The passenger side (where my mom was sitting) airbag did not deploy, which probably exacerbated her pains. She took the rest of last week off and was pained so much to request this week off as well with a doctor's suggestion.

"Greek is hard... in what other class do you learn SO much? You certainly get your money's worth in this class." --Dr. Claxton, my Greek professor.

Greek is hard. My Research Design class and my two Psychology classes are easy. Unbelievably easy. This is not a good combination for apathetic me-- but perhaps if I prayed and worked out my apathy these classes would not be so difficult to conquer, huge difficulty gap as they have.

I might have a job next year, which will require discipline on my part. Can't be a P.E. teacher and show up late, can I? And you know what they say about P.E. teachers.... just kiddin'. Being a P.E. teacher is hard work! Rather than try to clearly teach subjects to students sitting in chairs, P.E. teachers must control little beasts to inspire and instill honesty, sportsmanship, cooperation, and a grace-filled attitude regarding weaker persons, wins, losses, and injuries. Buuuut all that's not happening just yet. I've got to figure out my schedule in the next couple weeks.
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There's theological weight to the English nuance to the word "husband," meaning "gardener." Many other languages have a uni-sex word for spouse (I think of the Spanish "esposo/esposa"), but English reverts closer to the Creation mandate of tending one's garden, especially one's marriage.

There's theological weight to the Greek word "γάμος" meaning marriage, and not just "civil union." Polygamy, monogamous, etc. all revolve around marriage, not just multiple wives. 

Also, "etsy ketsy" is apparently the Greek equivalent to the Spanish "mas o menos."

Say the word and I'll be free.

"Every technological revolution has its benefits--and its casualties. The invention of writing was itself a technological revolution. In his dialogue Phaedrus, Plato tells a story about the old god Theuth, the inventor of many arts, including arithmetic and geometry. But his greatest discovery, said Plato, "was the use of letters." He came one day to Thamus, the Egyptian god-king, who dwelt in Thebes. Theuth presented his great invention, writing, to the king. "This," said Theuth," will make the Egyptians wiser. It will increase their memory and improve their wit." But the Egyptian king was not impressed.

"Because these letters are like your own offspring," he said, "you are blind to their faults. This discovery of yours will only create forgetfulness in the learner's soul because he will no longer need to use his memory. He will trust to the written characters instead of his memory, and will not remember them himself. These letters of yours may help in reminiscence, but they are not an aid to memory. Your hearers will become, not disciples of the truth, but of a semblance of truth only. They will be hearers of many things, but they will learn nothing."

This seems a harsh judgment to us today, and yet there is truth in it. Writing brought about many improvements, but it would be false to think that, in moving away from an oral culture where memorization was the primary method of learning, something was not lost." --Prof. Martin Cothran, from "The Decline and Fall of the Book:
Why the Demise of the Encyclopedia Britannica means the End of Western Civilization" (found here)

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I don't agree with all this professor says in this essay; though he begins by bemoaning the loss of his childhood inspiration and pastime, the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Cothran then continues to then bash electronic literature, as the Encyclopaedia Britannica has opted to be updated in digital form, though it will not be reprinted past its 2010 publication.

Anyways, it's so true: technology makes us dumber. In primary school mathematics classes, students are taught how to figure equations out by hand, with pencil and paper, before being taught the calculator short-cut. Guess which one gets used more? Guess which one gets forgotten quicker?

Before I had a cell phone, I could have multiple phone numbers memorized at a time. Nowadays, I just use my cell phone's phonebook to call someone. The numbers that form their unique cell phone number have lost their value; instead, Joel Fong is Joel Fong and Christopher Locke is Christopher Locke.

Before ancient civilizations valued written texts' accuracy over the veracity of spoken word (which happened sometime around the first century A.D.), much of history and poetry were simply remembered. You've surely heard of oral tradition, reader. Oral tradition is where a family's history and genealogy and other stories were simply spoken from one generation to the next, and so on and so forth. Much of the Pentateuch was recorded this way before being written down by Moses. The Greek poets, most notably Homer, were able to memorize huge chunks of dialogue, history, and mythology, only to regurgitate it in iambic hexameter for hours on end. What to do if they hit a mindblock? Insert convenient sacrifice scene here, stall for time, and rearrange words and phrases in your head. Got that?

I've pondered the (possibly unethical) experimenting of restricting a child of mine from using a calculator or written word for the first few years, to see if he or she'd be better able to memorize Scripture. :)

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I was asked to sing Hillsong's "Devotion" for an event the men in my on-campus Bible study are putting on for the women. I'm gunnnaa diieeeeee....

Also, I'm having a really hard time staying focused on learning the silly little nuances of the Greek "optative" mood, since it won't be used often in Koine Greek, the Greek dialect of the New Testament. If I won't be using it, why bother?

Oh, wait. I'm a Psychology & Social Behavior major. Right.

I ought to be sleeping! Happy Lord's Day!

Confounding variables

I'd expected to drive home at 8, eat a late dinner, do some laundry, re-learn Greek purpose clauses and those funky optative forms, and hit the sack right around now. Instead, this unfolded...

I didn't bring a book to read or my Greek book to review and finish my homework, so I'd spent my spare three hours in devotion to prayer and reading my Bible. I finished Proverbs, read through Luke's account of the Sermon on the Mount, and prayed for thirty minutes before, rather prophetically, writing these words: 


Pardon me, Father, but I ask for traveling mercies to return home, where I will continue to pray to You.


The clock struck eight, and as the last Westminster chimes were sounding, the wind clipped my now-bare neck as I strode towards the parking structure. I called home, to no response. The third time I gave up, guessing neither my brother or mother were home. I couldn't get a hold of my mother after four tries to her cell phone, and since I haven't re-married my phone to bluetooth yet, it wasn't the safest idea to be distracted in an emptying parking structure. 


Bah. She never picks up her phone.


I drove past the freeway on-ramp towards the 85* Bakery and the Asian supermarket H-Mart. H-mart didn't hold any non-seafood rolls (I've got to get over my gluttonously picky eating disorder), and I tried my mother's cell phone as I walked over to the bakery. 


"... ... ... ... Hello? Joseph?" My brother often answers my mother's phone if they're driving, but his voice caught. He choked back sobs and blurted out "I got in a car accident." 


Suddenly my growling stomach quieted. Hunger would wait.


"What happened? Are you guys ok?"


"Yeah," he replied, "I'm perfectly fine, but Mom is in a lot of pain. She's still on the stretcher, but she's awake enough to sass me. She doesn't look like she has any broken bones... ... ... oh, God, why did this happen? She's been through so much already... the car hit her side... ... the tire was still burning and it smelled awful... I can still smell it... and I couldn't open her door, it was bent downwards from the crash... I wish she hadn't been in the car. She's three for three, now." 
[My mother has been in three accidents now within the past three years, and she still suffers acute neck pain. My brother missed his driver's license "behind-the-wheel" test on Monday because he'd misplaced/lost his car's registration forms. If he'd passed...things would look differently today for sure.] 


"Oh wow. Where are you guys?" All thoughts I'd originally had for the call vanished. It no longer mattered if there were leftovers from dinner or not. "Tell me about the accident."


"We're at Long Beach Community Hospital... call Grandpa for directions. We were coming from Costco and I couldn't see the guy in the oncoming lane, since it's a hill, right? I was making a left, and he was hidden somehow...Mom's airbag didn't work!" He sniffed and said "Mom wants you to go home and pick up the AETNA insurance papers that came... they're on the coffee table."


"Alright, I'll do that. I'll be right over, Calvin, alright? I'm really sorry this happened. Don't worry, I'll be there in a minute." 


I'll be honest, reader, I exceeded the speed limit for much of the ride home (I drove 25 miles in 20 minutes), but I was careful to not endanger myself or my fellow drivers. (I figure I kept the spirit of the speed limit law, as I wasn't exceeding the freeway speed's average driver by much... but that's irrelevant.) I scooped up the envelopes my mother requested, and promptly forgot to grab something to eat. 


When I arrived, it took Calvin about 15 minutes to calm down and explain to me over the phone which entrance they were close to-- turns out I got to rush through the ambulance entrance doors. He finally stepped outside so I could find him, and when I did, I ran to him and he broke down, collapsed and sobbing in my hug. 


I've only been in the ER once, and only for my own violent reaction to the anti-nausea drug compazene, but that's again beside the point. The smell of hospital enveloped me. However, while he brought me, our mother had been moved to get X-rays to confirm that she had not broken any bones. Turns out she's got strong bones; I hope to have inherited that trait. Anyways, she took some painkillers, and then we hurried.... to wait. We sat there for four hours, and I did my best to make them laugh and talk and take their minds off the night. My mom laughs a lot more when she's under the influence of painkillers...


My mom laughed and said, "I'm three for three now; my boss is going to throw up his hands and say, 'Again?!' Also, it's funny that when I got in my last accident, I'd just filled my car with gas; this time, you [Joseph] had just changed Calvin's car's oil... oh! The groceries!" 



The pharmacies were all closed at 11:30 when my mom was released, so we couldn't get her prescriptions filled. I don't know if I'll be able to finish my Greek homework by 12 noon.... today. !! 


Calvin says he's going to have nightmares reliving those split-seconds. 



The food was in the car, which probably will be imputed with the title "totaled," which is in a lot somewhere near our neighborhood. Regardless, the real goods were safe, and for that, I praise God from Whom all blessings flow! 

Tis He who saveth me.

"Saveth!" saith the man LoJoe.

(I'll be disguising this man's name again. He's a ruling elder at Westminster OPC, the principal of CCA, and a wise mentor.)

This spring break, I'd reprised my volunteering at CCA on Tuesday, like I used to do last year. LoJoe's bright smile shone through his thick glasses when I opened the heavy door promptly (that is, 3 minutes late) at 10:33. He'd been asking me for a quote to add to the CCA flier that could be distributed to other churches and schools, but I've been at a loss for words; how can you summarize eight years of godly teachers who never ceased hoping and praying for my salvation? Hope, they did, and God granted fruition to their active prayers. Salvation is an amazing thing, and it so often escapes me what that word "save" means. It could mean "deliver from" or "deliver to," "rescue" or "ransom," "preserve" or "protect." But how does that translate to the ever-useful Microsoft Word command, Control + S? (Or F12, if you're fancy.)

I'd say Word draws its definition from the "preserve" aspect of salvation. After all, that's what you ask it to do, right? "Save this for later."

Which leads me to a (blasphemous) joke, which I didn't think up.

So, one day Satan comes to God and says, "I betcha I can beat Jesus in writing computer code!"
God laughs and says, "Fine-- have at it for 24 hours, and we'll see who comes out with a greater amount." 
So Jesus and Satan take seats at some computer lab somewhere, and they begin to write and type on their keyboards at impossible speeds. The keyboards risk catching fire from the friction they cause, but they continue to labor throughout the day. 
About 30 minutes before the 24 hours would be over, the power shuts off. Satan and Jesus look up suddenly. The power turns on again! They resume their typing, and soon God says, "Enough! Jesus has waaaaaaaay more coding finished than you, Satan." 
And lo! Jesus has a complete portfolio where Satan only had the 30 minutes' worth of work.
Satan points at Jesus and says to the Father, "No fair! He cheated!"
God shrugs and says, "Jesus saves."


Yeah. It's inappropriate, but it makes me giggle. Perhaps I should reserve my puns for non-blasphemous humor.

Words that end in -ous make me think of Greek masculine plural accusatives..... which I ought to be doing right now.

Thank You, Father, for causing me to remember to order my coursebooks before my Amazon Prime membership expired. It's in these little things that I remember You are looking out for me.

Resolved: to not begin to think of my blog as simply a diary, an extended Facebook status, or a way to spread truth, but primarily as a collection of my prayers to my heavenly Father. 


Well, looks like Mr. LoJoe only got a cameo appearance in this post, but there's plenty more wisdom from his lips I glean from!

P.S.-- I might be teaching part-time at CCA next year!!!! I've just got to see how my schedule aligns with the sun, moon, and stars... which will only happen in a few weeks. Teaching is a wonderful (and heavy [and glorious!]) occupation. 

Red Rooftops, and the importance of order.

Tonight I will hit the sack early, instead of doing my homework first, in the efforts to remedy my sleep-schedule. My first class doesn't start until 12:30 on Thursday, which is nice in that I don't have to fight SoCal's infamous early morning "rush hour" traffic on the 405. However, this late start often translates into me bumming around in the mornings. Gah. I'll try to shake things up by getting real sleep (I was woozy all of today from a late night studying) and hitting the books in the morning.

Calvin and my mother had to resort to take showers in mine tonight; Calvin leaves his iPod running loudly while he showers.

My favorite key to play on the piano is D major. My second favorite is B♭ major. 

The week after spring break is full of the greeting "Hi! It's been a while. How was your spring break?", so it's often good to re-evaluate one's break in question, between consecutive questionings. I, for one, did not do much with my break. I'd intended on catching up on Greek (the lack of which I am sorely feeling now) and decimating my pile of books, but I only finished 2 books, and didn't crack the Greek textbook. I did get Calvin's car's oil changed alongside my own's. Mental note: I ought to learn how to change a car's oil someday. I also met up with some a dear high school friend. (I've considered asking him now, prematurely [and thus unwisely], whether he'd be my best man, assuming God blesses me with the privilege of husbanding one of His daughters... and if my friend would be available.) I take back what I said earlier; recreational time intentionally chosen to be spent with friends is never to be considered "wasted time" or "time ill spent." 

Perhaps oil changes can be compared to one's walk with the Lord? A new car doesn't need them more often than the prescribed portions of mileage / time, but the owner could be wont to pamper his/her new car with extra and unnecessary maintenance. With age, the owner would need to change its oil more often if he would have his car run smoothly. Eh. Just kidding. A car's oil change schedule isn't comparable to sanctification (a believer shouldn't relapse significantly), but rather to diapers. Respectfully, old folks shouldn't be embarrassed to wear a diaper. Better that than soiled pants!

I live in a beautiful part of Long Beach. It's part of a neighborhood called California Heights, and it's full of contradicting (yet beautiful) murals and cracked sidewalks, Spanish-style shingles and highlighter colored bike-racks, bars and over-priced breakfast parlors, one-man barber shops and family-owned hardwood stores, libraries and churches. 

{However, Long Beach is locked. I detest locks; they signify the danger of either robbery or a lack of courteous respect, if not both. When Faith OPC (Long Beach) walked the neighborhoods, handing out fliers advertising the Sunday church services, more often than not the people Ethan and I encountered either left "NO SOLICITING" signs at their doorways or brusquely declined, stating "I'm just not interested."}
I hadn't known Long Beach could be dangerous, or that certain parts of it smelled, or rotted, or decayed. Weeds overwhelm certain areas, and metal bars begin to appear at windows and door frames alike. But around my house, the neighborhood sleeps under its beautiful red Spanish-style shingles, the last remnant (besides the aged folks who live here! The average age of residency on my block must be around 50!) of the generation from the 1930s and '40s. 

I believe it is this architectural feature that subconsciously drew me to UC Irvine. If you ever get the chance, reader, the view of the sunrise from one of UC Irvine's multiple parking structures is breathtaking. The sun rises over the small hills to the east, glinting off the red roofs of the "off-campus" housing where many of my friends now live, and playfully splits the morning fog. The smells of the many wildlife preserves fills the air until the sprinklers come to life and add to the dew that wets the grass. 

Order is good. God is logical; otherwise His salvation comes into question. Therefore, order and integrity take new found importance. More on that later-- it's 12:05! Yikes! So much for hitting the sack early! :P